The Other Side of the Glass
by CaptainHooksGirl
Summary: He watches her from behind the mirror-so close, and yet so far very far away. Must there always be a barrier of glass between them? Poetic one-shot inspired by "A Beautiful Thing" by Murin007 on deviantArt.


**Author's Note: Well, I don't usually write for book-Phantom, but somehow Leroux's Erik and Christine just seemed to write themselves into this little poetic piece even though the timeline goes more along with the movie/musical. Anyways, this is a sort of "what if" piece that takes place right after Raoul and Christine have gotten back from dinner (assume Erik didn't lock her in her room) while Erik is contemplating whether or not to reveal himself to her. Hope you like it! **

**~CaptainHooksGirl~**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Phantom, do you really think I'd be writing my stories on here for free? :P**

**P.S. - Sorry for the weird format. This website doesn't like the original spacing I had in Word.**

**The Other Side of the Glass**

The other side of the glass is cool,

Vacant of her warm, inviting presence,

That internal glow that seems to radiate from within,

Casting away the shadows,

Penetrating the darkness that lays claim to my soul.

The cold sting of rejection still aches, but the memory burns—

Featherlight touches on a silvery surface,

Liquid mercury under the heat of her caress,

Beauty resplendent as the setting sun,

Flames of passion emblazoned within my heart

Now ashen.

Another wound inflicted.

Another scar she'll never see.

My masks are many, and they cover all—

The scars,

The tears,

The wretched cries of a monster in the night.

Angel? What angel?

Certainly not I!

Demon, perhaps.

Devil, maybe.

But never an angel—no.

_She_ is the being of light,

The beacon of hope,

The one good thing in all my life.

Yet how can an angel inflict such pain?

Her name is sweet on the lips but bitter to the tongue,

Poison disguised as pommes au four,*

Forbidden fruit—delicious but deadly—

Venom that floods the veins with fire,

Sends tremors up the spine,

And paralyzes the still beating heart of one foolish enough to taste—

A glorious death if ever there was one!

Oh, I am dying! Dying of love!

She alone holds the antidote,

But she cannot give what has already been taken.

Too late!

Another heart has laid claim, and I am left with nothing but a terminal prognosis

And fleeting glimpses of an angel's face.

It will be painful.

It will be long.

Of that I have no doubt.

But I cannot blame her—no, never her.

Suddenly, a light! A flicker of anticipation.

"Show me the girl."

And as if by magic, she appears.

Fair curls and flushed cheeks—

She has been with that boy again, and her smile is what hurts more than anything.

A contented sigh,

A joyful hum.

But the melody is not for me.

Not this time.

Was it ever?

How can you lose something that was never yours to begin with?

Can a wild bird of the wood be tamed?

Can the essence of her melody be captured?

No instrument crafted by human hands can imitate the song,

Its beauty pure and sweet,

Fresh from the mouth of the little nightingale soaring through the heavens,

The winds carrying her voice to God.

She sings for Him alone, and to cage her would be to slowly kill her soul.

I was fool to think the laws of nature might somehow bend for me.

There is a flash of comprehension,

A furrowed brow,

A furtive glance,

Full lips fettered in lightly disguised fear.

She knows.

Her eyes dart around the room, but she can't see the heart that's breaking right in front of her,

The silent tears that hit the floor like softly falling rain,

Running rivulets beneath this mask of lies.

A whisper,

A sigh,

A rustle of the angel's wings.

She leans against the mirror,

Weary.

Close.

So close that I can smell her perfume,

Hear every breath,

See every detail of her face—

The silken curls in slight disarray,

The sapphire eyes peering out from a forest of dark lashes,

The hint of a smile still playing on her lips.

Perfection.

Fingers reach out, searching for skin but finding only glass—

The illusion shattered.

"Angel?"

That voice—so heavenly!

She expects me to answer, and for a moment, I almost do.

"Angel, don't leave me! I'm sorry! Don't go!"

It would be so easy to take her, to touch her.

Reach out,

Open up,

And let her in—

Into my world of darkness,

Darkness deep as hell and twice as smothering.

Temptation.

No!

For she would certainly come to hate me—

And that is something I could not bear.

Better to be loved as a lie than hated as a man.

Better to die and be remembered with fondness than to live and be regarded with fear.

"Your Angel will never leave you, Christine—not unless you choose to set yourself free."

"Oh, Angel, I could never leave you."

I want it to be true.

She wants it to be true—or at least, she thinks she does.

But she will leave.

There will come a day when the music will no longer be enough—

When she will need a man who can hold her and love her as a spirit never could.

She knows it.

I know it.

But neither speaks of it, and I am thankful for the lie.

The truth, it seems, is far too ugly for us both.

A pause.

"I love him, Angel."

"I know."

"He makes me happy."

"Then be happy, Christine."

_Be happy and love and live and shine for all the world like the light I know you are, but never forget that your Angel loves you as well._

Tears—slick as glass,

Drip like candle wax,

Hit the ground,

Shatter.

Mine or hers or both?

I don't know anymore.

"I love you, too, Angel."

No you don't. But it's a nice gesture.

_Goodbye, Christine_.

Five floors down in the glow of the candles, the mask comes off.

A glimpse in the water's edge,

A glimmer on the lake's black surface.

Even here I cannot escape from him,

From me—

The yellowed skin,

The missing nose,

The hollow, sunken eyes.

I hold his gaze.

I must.

I must remind myself why she can never be mine,

Why she must never know.

It is a corpse that loves you and adores you and will never, never leave you—

Always by your side,

Always close,

Forever barred by this sheet of glass,

Humanity's perceptions of beauty reflected.

I do not have the strength to break it,

But, oh, how I wish that you would.

***Pommes au four - a French dessert that consists of baked apples. Since apples are often used to represent the forbidden fruit and are associated with poison in traditional fairytales, I thought the analogy fit well. :)**

**By the way, there are some original Leroux quotes in this and also a brief line from Disney's "Beauty and the Beast." Kudos to anyone who can find it. ;)**


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